Recall
by Little Moffat
Summary: There is a very important message that will change the life of the entire Watson-Holmes family.
1. Chapter 1

**I plan to turn this into a series the "Recall Series" (creative right?) But it will encompass beginning to end. I hope you all enjoy it! and please review it helps me thinks and makes me very happy :) **

* * *

John sat by himself on the couch in the empty flat. Sherlock was off running about on a case for Lestrade and John had had a meeting. John's meeting was over and odds are the case was solved. The lonely man on the couch didn't feel any better.

The tell tale signs of feet thumping on the stairs already told John that the case was solved and the culprit brilliant. But right now even Sherlock's face all lighted up with exertion and excitement could not lift the weight on John's shoulders.

"John it was brilliant. A toothpick, all of it! Done with-" Sherlock stopped abruptly staring at the defeated grey colouring of his face. "What happened? What did they say?"

Sherlock took a seat on the coffee table directly in front of John and clasped his hands over the weary doctors. John couldn't meet his eyes.

"John, please tell me." The pleading from Sherlock broke John and as he cried Sherlock pulled him close.

"They said I'm better." John said weakly as he clutched Sherlock, "better and ready to go back." The last part was whispered. Sherlock took in a breath.

"No, they can't do that." Sherlock was shocked John being sent back was an option, but not an actual option, as in they didn't think it would happen. "What are we to tell Andrew?"

"The truth."

"Of course tell him that his father is going back to Aphganistan and might not come back?!" Sherlock was on the other side of the room by that point.

"He is old enough to know. And what would you tell him? Your father went to visit your Aunt Harry he may or may not come back he could have abandoned us?" John stood in front of the detective. "I would rather the truth."

"Fine." John pulled Sherlock close and ran his fingers through the dark curls, "When do you leave?"

"A month." John said into his partner's neck where he replaced the words with kisses.

* * *

"Dad, Father, I'm home!" Andrew called as he entered the flat. John was in the kitchen making dinner while Sherlock was reading through case files at his desk.

"Andrew, your home early. I thought you had football practice today." John said as he added more spices to the pasta sauce.

"Got canceled and not a total loss." Andrew snuck up stairs hoping that Sherlock would miss all the tell tale signs that he had skipped practice today to hang out with friends.

"He skipped." Sherlock added as he snapped a file closed with finality.

"Even I could tell that, Sherlock." John replied as he set plates on the table, "When are we going to tell him?"

"Soon, if you want." John nodded as Sherlock kept his eyes firmly placed on his key board.

"Tell me what?" Andrew called as he entered the room grabbing a piece of garlic bread of the plate.

"Hey! Wait for dinner, you!" John chuckled as he smacked their son's hand, making him drop the piece of bread.

"Your father is being called back to Aphganistan." Sherlock said cooly from the door way leading to the living room.

"Hahaha, don't joke about that." Andrew said plopping into a seat, "We all know that is an actual possibility. When is your meeting with them anyway? It's soon right?"

Sherlock and John glance at each other, he hadn't remembered that the meeting had already taken place. They didn't know how to tell him now. Andrew had been living with them for a while, a few years now, they celebrated him coming into their small family it like a was birthday. He had no where to go after his parents' murder and John refused to let the poor boy go into the orphanages, to be left at the cruel hands of the system. So they did the only "logical" thing, in Sherlock's words, and adopted him. Three years they had had a great time as a new family, Sherlock had gotten the hang of help Andrew with "useless" school subjects, even astronomy. Though, Sherlock sometimes ran around at random times of day, John had cut back on that and gotten a steady job at the local clinic so he could be there for Andrew, their adopted son and best decision of their lives. Soon Aphganastan was going to ruin it, tear them apart and leave them as two. They would be strong for him, he knew they would, but John knew Sherlock was going to get hit harder than anyone and it was Sherlock's reaction that scared John the most.

"Yeah, it's soon, Drew." John said quietly as he turned away from them to spoon pasta into a bowl.

"No, John, you wanted to tell him the truth. Telling him anything else now would be lying. Just tell him!" Sherlock ended in a yell. Andrew flinched slightly at the table, Sherlock's rants were fearsome indeed.

"What is Father talking about, Dad?" Andrew spoke from the table quietly as he kept his eyes fixed resolutely on the empty blue plate in front of him his freezing fingers clasped tightly underneath the table.

John left the pasta on the counter as sat carefully at the table across from Andrew Watson-Holmes.

"I met with them today." John whispered is the silent room, everyone held their breath not even Mrs. Hudson down stairs made a sound.

"What did they say?" The words were small, and painfully reminded John of how he sounded when he had first come to live with them, small and afraid.

"They said-" John's voice cracked, "They said I'm fit to go back on active duty."

The tears started to form in Andrew's eyes as he kept his gaze fixed firmly on his bare cold plate.

"When do you leave?" Andrew asked after a silence that seemed to last an eternity. Even Sherlock had lost his angered exterior when facing the crushed dreams of a boy whose soul wish to have a family that could stay together, he thought he was going to have it with John and Sherlock, that was until the news of John's possible departure to a place he may never come back from.

"A month." The word had barely left his mouth before Andrew was gone from the table. Plate crashing to floor, shattering into pieces.

Sherlock flinched at the noise.

John didn't move and his eyes didn't rise.


	2. Chapter 2

**One Month Later:**

**Andrew's POV**

The air port was crowed with people running around, mostly on phones, mostly business men and women. There were also families with signs waiting near the doors, excited to see loved ones return home to them after long trips away. Pilots raced to flights with rolling bags trying to keep up behind them and flight attendants strutted the moving floors as any model would work the catwalk, perfectly balanced from experience on shifty planes. Children ran into gift shops grabbing candy and stuffed animals looking towards tired moms, pleading for their way, and crying when the puppy dog face fails. Travelers with large head phones wait in lines for sustenance after refusing to eat what the airline passes for food, cause really, what's up with that?

To Andrew the white and light blue walls were careless, unforgiving, and sterol, reminding him too much of the hospital he had been kept in after he had lost his parents. That and he could still smell the cleaning supplies in the air as the bathrooms were cleaned when least used in the middle of the night as weary travelers slept in chairs as they waited for 1 AM flights to who-knows-where.

He walked in the middle of Dad and Father, eyes fixed to the ground as they walked to get Dad checked in at the desk.

"Good Morning, sir." the Lady behind the desk was too cheery for this early on a Monday, "Visa, please." Her kind tone was making Andrew want to cry all over again, which was not cool for a 15 year old guy, "Thank you, Captain Watson, your plane boards Gate 87C in 4 hours. You can put your checked luggage with the men over to your left." Her eyes met his, "Thank you for your service."

Dad nodded, like he was suppose to, as he grabbed his army issue green and tan camouflage duffel bag off the speckled white linoleum floor with dirt forgotten by brooms in the cracks.

And they walked away to find the closest open cafe where they could wait until the last possible to say good-bye to a beloved Dad and Husband.

Even after a month of preparations Andrew couldn't believe that the month had passed, though he had felt the tension every day during the wait to now, this moment. When John Watson, the man he came to call Dad, would be leaving for Aphganistan. Very soon, no more days to put this off, Andrew was down to hours.

"Andrew?" Dad called softly, "Did you want anything to snack on while we wait?" Andrew had zoned out thinking about his Dad's departure that he hadn't noticed where they were ordering from the empty cafe they had found. Andrew shook his head unable to speak without crying and unable to eat without breaking down.

Father had moved to look at a stand of coffees, Andrew knew that he was taking it worse. Sometimes when they thought Andrew had gone to bed he would sneak down the stairs and watch them. In a totally non-creepy sorta way. It was just nice to see his new parents so happy, just like his original parents. Always smiling, even in private, and always real smiles because "the eyes crinkle at the outside edges and makes you squint, while fake smiles don't", as Father always reminded him.

"Sir, your tea is ready and would you like a pastry?" The barista behind the counter handed Dad a steaming cup of Earl Grey, Andrew knew this to be his favourite tea in any situation.

"Ah, thank you." John said taking the pale cream styrofoam cup with a bumpy cardboard sleeve, "No, thank you, I think we are good."

"It's on the house, sir, I insist." The barista gave a small smile. John smiled back and pointed to one of the honey drizzled croissants with chocolate on the inside, Andrew knew these were Father's favourite desserts that Dad only got on very special occasions. This made him look away as he once again had to fight the emotions wanting to break through his thin barrier of cool-calm-and-collected and a sobbing mess in his Dad's arms.

"Drew, come on, your Father found us a nice table by the window." From this "nice table by the window" the three of them had the perfect view of all the planes entering and exiting the docking areas, that is not what Andrew thought of as a wonderful table, "Sherlock, I got you something to eat." Father stared resolutely out the window by the nice table, "Look I hope you know you have not fooled me, I know you have not been eating."

Eating. Always a sensitive topic in the Watson-Holmes House Hold, Father didn't always enjoy eating, but Dad always made him choke something down, eventually. Andrew caught a quick glance of the face behind the black crazy curls, the eyes were ringed red and the cheeks were wet, Father had been crying this entire time and Andrew hadn't noticed.

Dad slipped his arm around Father's shoulders and kissed his neck, making Father flinch and cave in on himself. Dad kept his composure as he held Father close.

"Please, Sherlock, please eat this." Dad whispered softly in Father's ear, Andrew looked down at his frozen fingers clenched together in his lap, he felt as though he were intruding, "Thank you." Andrew looked up to see Father taking small bites of honey cover pastry filled with chocolate.

"So, Andrew, you have your football match this Friday. Your Father promised to send me footage of you starting off." Dad's face was so bright as he talked about a game he wasn't going to, but he made it sound as though he were only leaving for a few days, he couldn't tell if this made him feel better or worse about the situation they were in.

"Yeah," Andrew said playing along, he knew Father needed this as well, "I get to start forward this game after Richie messed up so badly last time." He gave a chuckle to go with it, though it sounded a little hallow, but Dad took it and ran.

"I remember that!" Chuckling louder, "So lost in the crowd of players that he shot it into your own goal!" Andrew joined him in laughter, because now it was funny, when he had his Dad with him to laugh at all the dumb plays that the pompous Richard Thalus had played thinking he was king of all.

"That child needs to just tell his parents he hates the game." A deep voice scoffed, Andrew stopped laughing to stare at his Father, it was the first time in several days he had talked, Dad was unfazed and kept chuckling, "Though even that mess could have been prevented by a three year old. If they had put you in your team would have won that game. Not only that, but if they had changed their tactic in the third quarter to be more offensive rather than defensive you would have gotten more goals, their goalie was terrible."

"You were at that game?" Andrew asked quietly, he had never seen his Father at any of his matches.

"Of course." Father said simply looking at him giving him a small smile. Dad had stopped laughing and looked at them both with a proud smile gracing his face.

"John!" A voice broke through their family moment, "John! I'm glad I caught you before you left."

The trio looked to see Detective Inspector Lestrade, or Uncle Lestrade the family friend.

"Greg, good of you to come. Your alone I figure?" Dad didn't lose any of his mirth.

"Actually no." Uncle Lestrade looked over his shoulder as Ms. Donovan walked to the table, "Anderson couldn't make it, he is actually writing reports," Father snorted, "to the best of my knowledge." Dad chuckled and Ms. Donovan kept her glare in check since Dad was leaving soon.

"Well, anyway, you are both just in time it seems that my plane is leaving soon," Dad said glancing at his watch, Andrew double checked his and is was time for Dad to leave.

"We'll wake with you to your gate," Uncle Lestrade offered as he picked up Dad's army regulated backpack, Dad smiled in thanks as he grabbed Father's hand, then reaching over for Andrew's.

"Alright, you two, I feel as though I need to restate the rules of the flat while I am gone. 1) Do not stay up too late, I know you both think you are night owls, but you always regret it in the morning," Dad put his arm around Andrew's shoulders and Father's waist pulling them both closer, "2) No organs in the appliances, please, food is kept in there! 3) Sherlock, please do less running around, you have been wonderful with changing the past three years, but this is something else entirely," Dad rested his head on Father's shoulder, "and 4) No parties! Mrs. Hudson would have a fit!" Dad said this jokingly and it worked making the three of them laugh as Uncle Lestrade and Ms. Donovan followed behind.

They stopped outside the security check to Terminal C, suddenly it seemed very daunting.

They stared at it for a moment.

"Well," Dad said softly breaking the silence with a knife, "this is me."

He let both of them go so he could face them properly. He looked to Andrew first pulling him into a tight hug.

"I love you, Drew, and you are going to be fine and do wonderful things while I'm gone, okay?" Dad kissed the top of his head, then gazed down at his face for a moment before letting go.

Next he took Father into his arms. Hugging him so tight Andrew thought Father was going to break in half. When Dad finally removed his face from Father's neck they kissed softly on the lips. Now Andrew could see Father crying now.

"Sherlock, you are going to do a great job while I'm gone." Dad said pulling his face away, tears trailing down his face as well, "You are going to be a wonderful parent without me and when I come back we are going to be inseparable; you, me, and Andrew. Got that?" Father nodded. Dad pulled him close and whispered, "I love you, Sherlock, always remember that, okay." Father nodded dumbly again tears falling freely.

Dad stood on his tip-toes to kiss Father's forehead and moved to shake Ms. Donovan's hand, nodding to her, then moving to Uncle Lestrade.

"Lestrade, don't give Sherlock anything too dangerous, please, and look after them they can be a handful sometimes." Dad theatrically rolled his eyes earning a chuckle from Uncle Lestrade.

Dad nodded to them and taking his backpack from Uncle Lestrade, left to enter the Security Check Point.

The four of them stayed until Dad could no longer be seen, Father held me close the entire time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the response this story has gotten it means a lot to me! I'm sorry it has been so long, but NaNoWriMo started and ended and I was a little distracted. Also I changed my name, just so my name is a warning for the feels.**

**Now that John is gone his life rests in my hands, to let him live or not...that is the question...**

**Belen09 - You should have a bad feeling about this**

**- Little Moffat ;)**

* * *

_Dear Dad, _

_[Week 2]_

_I miss you Dad! Very much so. Can't say that things up here are any different, Father is still blowing things up and Mrs. Hudson is still upset, though she has stopped her threats of kicking us out of the flat; I think that this is because you left. It really is a funny story._

* * *

"Father, I'm home!" Andrew set down his back pack and football bags to lay gingerly on the couch. The practice that day had been grueling and Andrew ached everywhere, even in places he didn't know he had, but that wasn't his main concern right now, "What's that smell?" Andrew shifted his head to look over to the kitchen door, that was when he saw the smoke, "Father!" Adrenaline pumped as he jumped of the couch and to the smokey haze that had become of the eating area.

Once in the other room coughing could be heard.

"Andrew stay in the other room!" It was of course too late for that, but the thought was nice.

"Father, what are you doing in here? Dad said no experiments while he is gone!" Andrew took in the burnt mess on the stove and-...and the vegetables on the table?, "Father, where you trying to cook?" Sherlock's cheeks flared red with embarrassment. He turned away facing the counter.

"Your dad made it seem so simple." The sadness in his voice was so obvious it made Andrew keep quiet.

The Silence Continued.

"Why don't we go to that Chinese place that's open all the time?" Andrew knew that this is where Dad and Father went after their first case together. Sherlock appreciated concern being shown to him by his son.

"That sounds nice." The words were weak, but they were true.

* * *

_So it was nice in his "Sherlock Way" that you talk about sometimes, but as far as I know that has been the ONLY reason the kitchen has been in danger. School has been going just fine just so you know. Some how word has gotten around school that you have gone off to war. Then following it was the fact that I have two dads. Of course what followed that was that I had parents who were killed. I don't know what I was expecting, sympathy more so than the odd looks and, I will admit, slight taunting. Father says to ignore and that all those who make fun of me are too much like Mr. Anderson to understand and display empathy._

* * *

"Hey, Andrew!" Carter the Imbecile called as Andrew trudged down the sidewalk try with every fiber of his being to ignore the coming onslaught of taunts, "I heard your faggot dad got sent back to Afganistan."

"Yeah, everyone knows that by now where have you been? Hiding under a rock?" The words flew from his mouth before he could check them. Father was always telling him not to talk back to bullies, but when they were being dumb it was hard not to throw one their way.

"Well, at least mine is just a rock and not the three grave stones you can hide under." The smug look on Carter's face showed that that was the comment he was expecting a punch aimed at him. But Andrew knew better, words were trivial compared to bruises.

"Two, actually, and I don't hide under them much to dark to read there. Carter leave me alone." Andrew's words were ignored as Carter the Imbecile kept going.

"Yeah, I heard that your parents killed themselves cause they couldn't take you anymore. Then to add insult to injury you get lumped with two queers? Just isn't right."

Andrew kept walking keeping his pace even and his face blank.

"Yeah, your only sane parent got sent off to die. Now you are left with that creeper who likes boys. Does he-"

"I know what you are trying to imply and it is not true. So, please, just leave me alone."

The shove was unexpected and sent Andrew sprawling to the ground.

"What have I told you about interrupting me? Don't do it!" The sentence was followed by a kick to the stomach. Luckily that was all, Carter left with the smug look he came with.

* * *

_Mrs. Hudson misses you lots I think she has now become our house keeper. Though sometimes when I'm walking up the stairs I think I hear her crying, but I can't be sure about that. _

* * *

Andrew had been late to coming home since he had been studying in the library at school for his math test. He was later then he was suppose to be and even though he had a good reason Mrs. Hudson and Father would still be worried.

The wind outside was harsh and it was starting to sprinkle so Andrew waited in the foyer to dry his shoes off before venturing any further into the house, but that was when he heard it. A sniffling coming from Mrs. Hudson's apartment.

"Mrs. Hudson?" Sniffling ends and a red eyed woman comes to the door.

"Hamish you are late, you know how your Father worries about you." Andrew smiled at her attempts to cover her own sorrow for his sake.

"I know, I had to study for a math test. Can't let my grades slip or I can't play football." Andrew skipped over the fact that she called him Hamish, she did that sometimes, though more often since Dad left.

"Yes, yes of course. Your Father is at the Scotland Yard, but I made some stew and left it on the stove up stairs for you."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Andrew kissed her cheek and made his way up the stairs to enjoy the stew she lovingly made for him.

* * *

_Sometimes I think I also hear Father cry, when he forgets I'm home or when he is asleep in your room. He likes to pretend it doesn't happen and I follow along, but we both know it happens. In case you were worrying Father has not missed one game or come home overly injured, a few bruises, but nothing more._

* * *

Who in their right mind would add letters to math? That is what Andrew wanted to know, not what 'x' equaled.

"Math needs to grow up and solve it's own problems." the frustrated boy muttered to himself as he rhythmically tapped his pencil against the cluttered table top, but that's when he heard it. The sniffling was always a dead give away that Father had had a really exciting case that day, when normally he would have been jumping off the walls talking not stop, while Dad finally got him to eat something. Now exciting cases just brutally reminded him of his loss.

"Father?" He straightened up and pulled himself together in time to face Andrew, "You finished the case."

It wasn't a question, it was a clean cut statement.

"Yes, I did." He cleared his throat of the pain residing there, "It was the baker, he was hiding the crack in the sugar sacks."

Father had almost not gotten this case since it dealt with drugs and he was at a lower point in his life without Dad, but Uncle Lestrade was more concerned about Father without a case to occupy his mind than the thought that a drug filled case would set him back on the track of self destruction. Although Andrew wasn't sure if Uncle Lestrade knew that as much as the cases helped, they also hurt the Heart Sick Great Detective.

Andrew stood and pulled a plate out of the oven, over time he had gotten very good at guessing when Father would finish a case and finally eat, he would sometimes make bets with Dad, and set the plate on the only clear spot on the table top.

"I made you some dinner, now that you aren't busy," Andrew didn't sit as he waited for his Father to make the first move, "And you are going to eat it," Father opened his mouth as if to argue, but Andrew beat him to it, "I don't want to hear it you are going to eat this plate of food." He used the voice he heard Dad use multiple times, that voice he 'learned in the military' he called it when it left no room for questioning.

Father smiled sadly as he took the seat at the table and began to eat slowly. Only when he was eating more vigorously did he finally sit down to finish his math homework.

* * *

_And that, Dad, is and up date of everything at home. How is everything on your end? I hope you are staying safe. Father and I can't wait for you to come home so we can be a family again. I know he is doing his best, but he just seems a little lost sometimes. I think he is just lost without you._

_Lots of Love,_

_Andrew Watson-Holmes_


	4. Chapter 4

_Dear Andrew,_

_It is so good to hear from you, I know it has been a while since you have sent your letter and I have responded, but things are a little tricky here and sometimes it's hard for the post to get to us. _

* * *

"Smyth, is the post coming in today?" John had just gotten out 8 hours of surgery on men from everything from bullet wounds from enemies to fevers from lack of water.

"Not today, WH, we are moving out tonight and can't have our current position given away, we need no repeat of that." Smyth shook his head at the reminder of the disaster that was there last close encounter when the message hadn't gotten to the mail deliverers to not come, their arrival lead to their location being reviled to the spies hiding in the hills. It had messy and John had worked his longest hours that night.

"Of course, thanks, Smyth." John didn't try to hide the disappointment from his face, Sherlock had always told him he was a bad liar anyway, which was funny since he could lie when he needed to.

"What are you waiting on, WH?" Russell, another medic, inferior to John, asked as he started to clean the blood off his hands form his equally long and grueling shift.

"A letter," Russell rolled his eyes at the obvious statement, "from Andrew, and possibly Sherlock given he is still alive and hasn't starved himself in the name of science."

The guys around him quieted, giving John a moment to collect his thoughts and emotions for his family. Most of the guys there only had girlfriends at most, a couple were married, but not for too long and with no kids.

"Hey, WH, after this next move we get internet." John perked up at Smyth's words, "I'll make sure you are first on the list."

John thanked him and made his way to the bunk that he shared with Russell.

* * *

_I hope your Father is eating and sleeping properly, if he isn't try to slip some sleeping medicine into his tea or food and that will knock him out like a light; then you will finally have some peace and quiet. How is every one? I am sure Mrs. Hudson has been hovering more than your Father would like, and when she does start to get a bit down have her sit in her favorite chair, cover her with that quilt you got her, and hand her a cup of tea. That should do the trick._

_You Father on the other hand is a little more complicated to calm since he tries to insist that he is fine in all meanings of the word, which you and I both know he is not. When he gets to his absolute worse tell him to look underneath my side of our bed, what I have left there might help. _

* * *

"WH! WH, we are heading out soon, you got to wake up!" Russell came through the tent flap with a giant smile on his face as he plopped down onto his cot.

"What are you so chipper about?" John asked sleepily as he forced himself to sit up and start lacing up his boots.

"Oh, nothing, nothing at all. What is there to be happy about only that our look through this far out area is over and we get to go back to a some-what civilization, well as civilized as it can be with those loons out there." John stood and stretched his back out after laying on the hard mattress, "Come on, mate, let's go! Your pack is already in the truck, yeah?"

John nodded that it was as he started to finally wake up.

"Let's get back to indoor plumbing." John exited the tent with Russell right on his tail.

When they had made their way to the trucks ready to take them back to base there was a crowd waiting around the open doors.

"What's the wait for? Usually you guys are already belted in and ready to go, what's going on?"

Smyth sat on the roof of the truck staring at something in his hand.

"We seem to have a special delivery," Smyth looked up and fixed his eyes on John, "for a Mr. John Watson-Holmes, from a one and only Mr. Andrew Watson-Holmes." Shock and disbelief were the first two emotions to pepper John's face, followed by pure delight.

"But, how? Smyth, you said that we wouldn't get post until we got back to base?" John gently took the letter from Smyth as though it were made of gold bejeweled with all the riches of the Royal vaults.

"Well, it was dropped off in a near by town, and we needed a guide so they sent the letter with him." Smyth's smile was a cross between proud and smug. John had to embarrassingly blink away the tears forming in his eye, "Oh, come on, WH, don't go all soft on us!"

"In my village, it is encouraged that the man have emotions when thinking about his family, for it is the most important thing in life." The man who spoke stepped forward and looked approvingly at John's misty eyes, "John, it is good to see you again."

"Hadi Harun, what are you doing here? I thought you stopped to have some peace with your own family." John smiled and embraced his friend from his first tour.

"That had been my idea, but I could not stand to see the people around me suffer and so nothing to help in any way possible. I guess you could say I came out of retirement." Hadi chuckled and John joined in on the mirth.

"Well, I had no idea that you two knew each other." Smyth hopped down from the truck roof and landed on the dry earth sending up a dust cloud.

"He actually saved my life when I was shot." John put an affectionate arm around Hadi's shoulders, he returned the gesture.

"No, my friend, you saved mine. I was the one you were operating on when you were shot and you did not stop until another one of your men had to take care of you while you took care of me!" They both started laughing at the gruesome story.

"Well, anyway we should head out," Smyth called as he headed to the lead truck, "Hadi and WH, you too are going to be with me. Everyone else to your assigned cars!"

The once relaxed guys jumped to attention and executed their orders like the trained men they were.

"So, John, tell me of your life since you have been away." Hadi started as they both climbed into the tan and dry green truck.

* * *

_My next trek is going to be more dangerous and since we will be on the move we will not be able to get any mail, what so ever, but if you do write it will be waiting for me when we get back to base. We haven't lost any men so far, which is always a good thing, but we have had a few close calls with those we thought were friendly. _

* * *

Another bullet wizzed past John's face as he peaked around the corner to see if there were anymore enemies racing down the hill, he fired and one man dropped.

"Russell," John yelled over the pops of bullets and the screaming of soldiers in two different languages, "Russell! They're heading towards the sick bay! Their planning to take them out, I saw a granade! Take 'em out!"

Russell's face was one of pure consentration as clutched his gun and ran off to protect those who couldn't protect themselves, their usual practical jokester was replaced by a completely focused man who was determined not to let any of his patients die.

John rounded the corner and found Smyth laying on his belly fireing off round after round at the men trying, and failing, to over run their camp site. The medical Doctor kneeled next to him and took up the targets the comanding officer couldn't hit.

"Smyth, I got your six." John growled between fired rounds.

"About time you showed up here, WH," Smyth commented without looking up, "I was starting to think that you only had the heart to pick up the aftermath."

"Never been good at seeing others suffer and sitting by the side lines." That ended the conversation as they continued to target and take out the ambushers.

Only when the last enemy was dead did any of the soldiers start to relax, but it wasn't before long their attentions switched from attack to protect and started helping the injured to the sick bay.

* * *

_Yes, I was worrying about school, but it's only natural for me too. Just ignore those who give you trouble. I know this sounds cliche, but they are only taking their own faults out on you. Just don't give them the satisfaction of a fight, or the taunts will never end._

_Andrew, I almost forgot to mention, though I don't know how, that as soon as we get back to base there will be internet and we can video chat. I know that by your age that you are done growing, but I just want to see you both so badly. _

_I also need visual proof that the kitchen is indeed intact, not that I don't trust you, but your Father is completely mad._

_I hope to see you when I get back!_

_Love,_

_Dad_


	5. Chapter 5

_Dear John,_

_I know that most people start letters off this way when the are hoping to leave the person away at war, but that is most deffinatly not the case here. _

_John, I miss you an excruciating amount. I don't like you being this far away of this long, it reminds me of before- well you know when I'm talking about. It doesn't hurt, I suppose, to say it. To say that this reminds me of that dark time in my life when I had nothing, but drugs, yet everything to prove to my brother, even to Lestrade. Even after I had recovered from the blackest part of my life, nothing was beautiful, it just was, and then there were things to use to my advantage. By this point everyone had assumed that I was less than human, in my emotional range at least, and had given up on trying to make me civil. Though Lestrade had never given up his hope that I would change, I just never did. _

_Then Mike Stanford introduced you and you were interesting from the very beginning. You thought what I did was fantastic and wonderful, when others just averted their gazes. I know you think I was just daft to the attempts of Molly, but I wasn't. She just isn't my type and, before you, I refused to mix business with pleasure. I just assumed that if I was 'oblivious' long enough she would stop, after a while I didn't have the heart to tell her. God, if Donovan were to read this I would never hear the end of it._

_Speaking of the Scotland Yard team, Lestrade continues to give me case after case after case. I believe it is his plan to work hard enough to forget that you aren't here right now, but in reality it only makes me more acutely aware that you are not here next to me. I am also aware that Anderson and Donovan are being nicer to me than usual, which is annoying in itself, I find it rather insulting that they assume I can't cope without you. Yes, it's true that I can't, but there is no reason for them to know that. _

_It seem that Andrew has taken over your duties of "taking care of me" since everyday he asks me if I have eaten that day or how well I slept the night before. I also spied him rummaging through the medicine cabinet looking for the sleep pills you think I don't know about. He is rather tactlessly trying to slip them into my food, at least you ground them up before trying to feed them to me. I believe he is hoping they dissolve before my food gets to the table. I also must ask you to never put them in my tea, seeing as they make the tea taste like soap. _

_Just please promise me that you will come home safely and will never leave again._

_You will always have my love,_

_Sherlock Watson_

* * *

Sherlock glanced down at the letter he had just finished penning and had every want to crumble it up, just like the other ones, but not this one.

This one was going to John.

His John

His blogger

His friend

His husband

Letting out a deep breath he had realized he was holding in, Sherlock picked up the empty envelope slipping the parchment inside. Looking at the closed door Sherlock flushed with embarrassment as he lightly kissed the sealed envelop.

"Really, John," Sherlock whispered into the silence of their shared room, "You seem to have turned me into romantic." A smile graced his pale pink lips.

"Thank you, John."

* * *

**_This chapter was harder to write, not because of writer's block, but because Sherlock is such a hard person to portray. Also, sorry it's not that long, but I always thought of Sherlock being a man of few words when it came to expressing himself._**

**_I would appreciate your feed back on this so I can get an idea if you think I stuck to his character well, since he isn't an OOC._**

**_Thank you very much_**


	6. Chapter 6

Hadi Harun and John took the back seat of the truck while Smyth took the driver's seat, gunning the engine causing it to roar to life and blow dirt and sand out of the exhaust pipe.

"So, my friend, tell me of your life back in your home land." Hadi angled himself towards John to engage him in conversation of their time apart. It had been years since they had seen each other and it was good to see each other their looks had changed though they both felt that their personalities had not.

"Well, when I got back I found myself a flat mate, Sherlock is his name, and, um, eventually we found that our friendship went a bit deeper than that," John blushed slightly talking about Sherlock, oh god Sherlock, the thought of the lanky dark haired man made him smile involuntarily. Hadi smiled knowingly at John, "We got married and a few years later this boy, Andrew, his parents got killed, it was a case that Sherlock was investigating. So, we adopted him."

"Sherlock, you said? Sherlock Holmes?" Hadi asked curiously over the grinding of the engine and the loud crunching of the dry cracking earth outside underneath the the heavy duty tires of the armored vehicle.

"Yeah, how do you know of him?" John asked confused and slightly concerned at the how well known Sherlock was that a person in Aphganastan knew of him and probably his skills.

"Of, course," Smyth offered from behind the driver's seat sparing them a glance through the rear view mirror, "it's hard not to know of him when his brother is Mycroft, and when you write about him on your blog-"

"You read my blog?" John was not shy about letting the shock and dismay show clearly on his face, he had known that his blog was getting popular, but he had no idea that it had reached the soldiers still on the battle field.

"Yeah, we read it for entertainment, plus it's encouraged to read a former's blog to show support to those who have gone home, though some aren't allowed to read them cause it makes certain people terribly home sick." Smyth nodded to John, "Just a quick question, does Sherlock really not know that the Earth revolves around the sun?"

John burst out laughing and keeps it up until Hadi and Smyth join in too.

"If he ever finds out I said this he will kill me and make it look like an accident," John managed to get out between chuckles and gasps for breath, "but yes! He doesn't think that astronomy is important!"

Their truck continued down the road with the trio continuing their merriment and mirth.

"Hey," Smyth said carefully his attitude sobering up, "What's that?" John leaned forward in his seat to get a better look at the object they were approaching.

Smyth pulled out the walkie talkie connecting them to the other trucks and ordered for them to halt.

"WH, take the controls while I scout the object." Smyth opened the door a crack preparing to climb out of the car.

"Smyth! Stay back, we get these all the time. Get one of the mates from another car to come up and do this. The last thing we need is for you to blow yourself up." Smyth grumbled in agreement as he climbed back in the car and barked the orders into the following trucks.

In the silent atmosphere the three men created the faint slam of an armored door and the thick boots crunching the already minuscule sand particles was heard. Larson, the explosive specialist, stuck his head in the window.

"Well, hello all! I heard we got a possible explosive?" Smyth nodded and pointed to the small cloth item in the middle of the road, "What, that small thing? I mean, sure, but you can go around that."

"We could, but you know for a fact that the never put just one." John commented from the back seat, Smyth nodded in agreement and Larson sighed.

"Alright, let me go get geared up." As Larson left a small dust cloud seemed to rise from the a rock several meters off.

"Smyth," John called to the front seat, "Do you see that? Or is it just me being mad?" He leaned forward again pointing to the cloud.

The realization was like a freezing shower.

The tattered piece of cloth in front of them was not the bomb the should be concerned about, it was the ones planted under their trucks in the dirt.

"We need to get out of here, NOW!" Smyth fumbled with the walkie talkie screaming orders that were possibly recognizable.

"PULL BACK! ALL OF YOU! REVERSE NOW!" Engines could be heard as they were woken from their dormant state, but too late.

The trucks may have been started and ready, but they were not ready for anything, definitely not for the quick flick of a thumb over a big red button.

* * *

Sherlock had long since gotten used to the fact that _he_ would have to do the shopping for himself and Andrew, it would be unfair to make Mrs. Hudson do it. So here he was in Tresco doing the shopping he so hated, but now understood the need for. On more than one occasion Andrew had told, and shown, him things that needed to be replaced, but then a case would pop up and Andrew's Father would accidentally delete things from his memory. So the clever boy created a list to keep track of the things that Father could not, which in Sherlock's mind was nothing he could keep track of everything.

A list was made anyway and Sherlock never told Andrew how helpful that stupid list really was.

So here Sherlock was putting food and other tedious items in their proper places in the kitchen that Sherlock made sure to keep clean so Andrew could do his homework, a condition John made him agree to, and so that they could eat dinner together, another condition John made. Which was enjoyable to say the least Andrew cooked, and was magnificent at it, and his Father would stop what he was doing, no matter where he was in the case, unless the VERY end, or Andrew would threaten to call Dad, and they would eat together. It was how Andrew Watson-Holmes was ensured that his Father ate on a regular basis. Sometimes Mrs. Hudson would join them and it would be like a dinner with a real family, because not one of them would comment about how there was always an empty plate at the end of the table, plate void of food, cup dry of drink, and chair empty of an occupant.

Andrew was home not long later and started to make dinner, knowing that his Father was a terrible cook, tonight he was going to make lasagna, his favorite. Father was at his desk filing through case files Lestrade had dropped off earlier in the week.

There was a knock on the front door and a creak as Mrs. Hudson opened it.

"Oh, hello officer. Can I help you?" Mrs. Hudson's voice wavered fearing the next words out of the official's mouth.

"I must speak with Mr. Watson-Holmes, is he at home?" Andrew looked over at his Father siting at the desk filing through case files Lestrade had dropped off, but now he was stone still, except the tremor of his hand.

"Yes," She whispered back, "he is right up stairs."

The tremor of Father's hand only got worse as the footsteps got closer. He stood and made his way to the door, slowly and eyes down cast, so when the steps finally stopped he was there to open the door and invite them inside.

Andrew remained in the kitchen with of a pan of browning hamburger on the stove mentally comparing the slow steps up the stairs to the timed beats of an executioner's drum and the crowd waiting for the blade to drop.

"Mr. Watson-Holmes, I do not enjoy these visits-"

"Just say it." Sherlock whispered, "Just hurry up and tell me. Is he injured, or is he dead?" Father did not raise his eyes to meet the officer's, as he would usually have done to demand answers, but this was personal, this hit his heart and he wanted no one to see that.

"Mr. Watson-Holmes, I am sad to say that Doctor John Watson-Holmes died in action."

Andrew closed his eyes and set the spatula down on the counter not caring about the oil getting on the icy surface. He heard the light steps and the slam of a door, Father had retreated to his room to grieve alone, but grieving wasn't enough for Andrew, he needed answers.

"Excuse me, sir," Andrew called as he exited the kitchen not giving a thought to the stove that was still cooking, "How did he die? My Dad, how did he die?"

The officer's eyes softened at seeing Andrew, but he didn't want sympathy he wanted to know!

"I'm sorry, I don't know and if I did I would not be able to disclose that to you." The officer bowed his head and turned to leave, but that is not what Andrew had in mind for him.

"That's not good enough for me. I want to know how my Dad lost his life. I want you to tell me why I will never see him again and the exact reason I will not be video chatting with him next week!" When tears started escaping his eye, he wouldn't be able to tell you, but all he knew was that he was going to get what he wanted.

The officer stood with his hand on the door nob, he stopped and turned to face Andrew and the sitting sobbing mess of Mrs. Hudson.

"He was returning to base from an outpost. The caravan had stopped to check on a possible explosive on the road, they did not know that there were other bombs planted in the road that were triggered when they stopped. There were no survivors."

"When does his body come home?" Mrs. Hudson managed out through her quieting sobs.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"There was nothing left of bodies, just dog tags. I'm sorry for your loss." The officer escaped the solemn silence that followed his explanation and left into the noisy world of London.


	7. Chapter 7

It was a dark day in the Watson-Holmes house. Sherlock was in his room not knowing what to do with himself. His John, was dead. Blown to bits by explosives, and he hadn't been there. Sherlock had made his promise to be there for his husband, always. And he had let John down.

There was a knock at his bedroom door.

It was locked, as much as Sherlock had tried to be there for Andrew there was nothing he could do now. Sherlock understood that he had to do his own mourning before he helped Andrew through his own. It was just taking a very long time to get through all the emotional turmoil raging through his mind and his heart.

His John.

His John, who loved tea in the morning, toast and jam while reading the paper and stealing glances at a sleeping Sherlock when he thought that the curly haired man was asleep.

His John, who loved the city and the chases and as much as he pretended to hate the aftermath of the cases, Sherlock knew he loved that too, he patching up of all the scratches, scrapes, and bruises. Forcing food down Sherlock's throat and then later forcing him to sleep.

His John, who always slept on the left side of the bed to make sure that Sherlock didn't sneak off in the middle of the night to do experiments. With John there there was no reason to not sleep. Sherlock would always drape his long limbs over John's sturdier frame and John would hold him close, chuckle, and complain that Sherlock was going to suffocate him. And that was where they would stay until morning's light woke John up, and then John forced them both out of bed.

There was another knock at the door.

"Father," Andrew said meekly from the other side of the door. Sherlock opened his eyes and dragged himself from the bed. The trek was not very far since he was occupying John's side, or what was John's side, it still had his sent, his essence.

He opened the door and let his red rimmed eyes fall onto his son in every way, but blood.

"I-I brought you some lasagna, Father," Andrew met his Father's eyes red matched red, slumped shoulders mirrored the other. Father smiled and gestured for Andrew to enter the room. They both climbed onto the bed, Sherlock on the left and Andrew on the right, and feasted on a warm plate of a delicious reminder what was waiting for him on the other side of the door.

Andrew handed over a fork and they both dug into food with a ferocity that surprised only one of them. There in the bed was where they stayed until the morning woke Andrew up, and Andrew forced his Father out of bed.

"Father, I have something to tell you," Andrew stood at the door looking over his shoulder at his Father now standing by the window looking, "Dad left you a letter under his side of the bed. He said to only tell you about it when I thought you really needed it. I think you could use it now." Andrew smiled at his Father bathed in the warming light of the sun and left.

As soon as the door was closed Sherlock pounced to John's side of the bed, what once was John's side, and sure enough there under mattress were three envelopes. One of the envelopes was labeled "Home Soon", a second labeled "Injured", and a third labeled "Neither".

Sherlock carefully picked up the envelope labeled "Neither" and carefully broke the seal.

_Dear Sherlock,_

_I pray to God that this is not the letter you pick up from under the bed. I wrote three of these knowing you would need a little something to hang onto until I get back. This one was written last, it was the most difficult to pen since it had the unfathomable concept of never seeing you again. I couldn't think about it, to me there is nothing worse then never watching you sleep again or never again listening to your crazy mind as your brain speeds ahead of your mouth. I couldn't think of a world where we weren't together or that we weren't going to be reunited soon. _

_If you are reading this letter the worst I feared has happened and you live in a world I couldn't dream of, us being separated for the rest of your life. No more tea and toast in bed, no more running through the streets of London, and no more yelling at the television when you try to prove a sitcom wrong. But most of all no more us lying in bed mumbling a half-asleep conversation about crumpets and umbrellas, don't try to deny that this actually happened I know you remember it. _

_I suppose it only seems fitting that the war brought us together so now it is the war taking us apart again. It hardly seems fair, but who am I to question fate, though I know you would gladly run the debate. I don't know how long it has been since I have been home and I don't know how long it has been since you have seen me, I'm sure that I am what you remember as a husband, only with a gun, fine a larger gun than I had. _

_I just have one request of you if it does turn out that I am deceased. Please don't lose yourself in my death. My life may be over now, but yours is nowhere near the end. You still have a brilliant life to lead and cases to salve and people to prove wrong, especially Anderson and Donovan. Keep taking the cases and think of me fondly when you finish them with that flourish you always do. _

_I, John Hamish Watson-Holmes, have loved you, Sherlock Scott Watson-Holmes, until the very moment I died and I can promise you that the love I felt carried on into death and through into my next life. _

_Live the life you have left, Love, and remember me._

_Yours in Eternity,_

_John Hamish Watson-Holmes _


	8. Chapter 8

**Quick note (I hate these so you won't see them often unless needed) This is officially the longest story I have written to date! **

**Thank you all for your wonderful and uplifting comments they mean so much to me and I visit them on hard days**

* * *

It was hot and there was fire.

It was dark, but he hurt.

The explosion made it hard to hear, hard to move, hard to breath. Everything hurt breathing, moving his eyes under closed lids, and most of all thinking.

His cognitive process was cut to a minimum very few thoughts were allowed to enter his cerebral cortex, the darkness, the filthy air, the dry grit beneath his fingers and caked under his neatly trimmed nails.

Dry

Hot

Pain

BREATH

A heavy gasp was heard in the quiet cave that was the hideout of the enemy.

The man knew better than to call out, knew better than to cry for the gladness that he was alive, was smart enough to know not to yell for the water that would stop the burning sensation in his throat.

They had other ideas.

"So you awaken." A man walks into view with a water in a rusty bucket, "I was wondering if you were not dead!" He laughed and threw the water onto the figure.

The injured soldier cried out in pain as the water hit raw tender flesh and carried away drying blood down the unnatural canals formed by the explosion.

"What-What do you want?" He hated to stutter, but his throat burned at any use and if the air had caused pain then actually speaking caused pure agony, not aided by the screaming.

"Do not try to speak, you are obviously in no condition to do so."

"Water." The injured man choked out as he rested his head against the rough stone wall.

"Did you miss the water you already got? Hard to believe that with the ruckus you put up." The enemy laughed and left the man bleeding out and silently scream against the harsh dry sand stone.

Maybe he had died.

Maybe this was Hell

* * *

"Lestrade, I know you have a case for me! Three killings in a closed off room with no prints! You know you need me for this so why am I not there?" Sherlock paced the apartment stepping over the coffee table and onto the couch.

_"Because, Sherlock, you need time to gather yourself. I knew it was a bad idea before, but now I am sure that I am not going to be handing you anything!" _Lestrade's voice was strained with the stress of the case and the pressure the public was putting on him to find the killer, "_Look, I am so sorry about John-"_

"Don't you dare say that." Sherlock cut him off, "Don't you give your condolences like some fan! Give me the case or let people keep dying!"

_"Sherlock, what is this about? The case or your inability to cope? Because if it is the later than I am NOT going to give it to you!"_ Lestrade passed on the other end of the line and heaved a breath, _"I consider you a friend even if you don't consider me one of yours and I am begging you to take some time to-recover before you come to me for a case."_

Sherlock took a deep breath that seemed to cleanse his soul and clear his head.

"Greg, John left me a letter," He paused collecting the pieces of his fractured heart, "he told me to not stop taking cases just because he was-"

_"If you are lying to me, Sherlock, may God help you." _He paused for several moments, _"Fine, you get this case out of my respect for John. I would ask for the letter as proof, but I won't intrude. Get down here and I'll read you in."_

"Greg," Sherlock said quietly, "Thank you."

Sherlock hung up the phone and grabbed his coat running down the stairs to go and save people's lives.

* * *

Andrew had to go back to school, it had been a week and according to the school that was a long enough period of mourning and required him to return to classes.

So here he was, in the corner he always occupied before the start of classes, a week after he had lost his third parent.

"You don't have very good luck with parents do you?" Carter the Imbecile came up to Andrew, head on, leaving him nowhere to go. "I mean you've lost two dads and a mum! At this rate you are going to be an orphan again!"

Carter started laughing and so did his followers, but they received glares from people who would not have usually noticed the taunting. Andrew noticed this.

Sherlock Time

"I'd be careful if I were you, Carter." Andrew kept his eyes down cast and voice soft, but made sure his words carried to the bullies ears.

"Why is that, Little Orphan Andrew?" He earned snickers this time, "Are you gonna hurt me?" This got him laughter the rolled from the group's bellies, but it also claimed the attention of by standers.

"Look around you," Andrew moved his eyes to the left and to the right, Carter's eyes followed, "A crowd is forming. Teachers might wonder or a student might stand up to you."

"Why should that worry me? No one would dare and the teachers all love me. All the more people to laugh at you!" Carter gestured around him, but his sight only stretched to his own people's smiling faces and not the grim and disgusted looks from the students beyond. A student ran away from the scene and into the school building, "Little Orphan Andrew all alone in a corner. Who will-"

"Hey, leave him alone!" A girl called out to the bully, she took a step forward and leveled his gaze.

"What's this, Andrew? Need a girl to protect you?" Carter laughed and turned his attention the her, "Do you know who he is?"

"No." The girl responded evenly not moving as the mass of flesh took timed steps towards her.

"Then leave, _girl_," Carter gave her a once over before redirecting his attention to the once huddled, now standing, figure of Andrew, "Where was I?"

"Talking to me, if I recall, and my name isn't 'girl' it's Chloe."

Now there was a stand off between the two, a short red head girl and a tall muscular guy. Andrew was actually not sure who was going to win.

* * *

"Why didn't you call me in before this?" Sherlock asked frustrated as he looked over pictures from each murder, "If I had been there I might have more."

Lestrade's office had been transformed into a whirling tornado of pictures, newspaper clippings, notes scribbled on napkins, and maps marking routes each victim took before their death. Open on his desk were three file folders holding everything you ever wanted to know about the three victims; names, addresses, places of work,even favorite foods.

"You know perfectly well why I didn't call you in." Lesrtade scowled as his aching eyes scoured the same pieces of paper for what felt like the hundredth time. "You and Andrew needed time as a family to mourn and I wasn't going to interrupt that with a case! By the way, where is Andrew, surely not at home all alone?" Sherlock made a noise in the back of his throat.

"No, the school board deemed that after only a week he was in an emotionally fit state to come back to school." The concerned father sat down and looked at his hands, "John's funeral won't be for another month or two, and then what's the point? There's nothing to bury except half melted dog tags."

Sherlock bit his lip as his tear ducts betrayed him and let a tear fall. God he hated _this_, this emotional state he had been thrown into. He was Sherlock Holmes! Emotions were for other people, the normal people! As much as Sherlock hated his showing of weakness he couldn't hate who caused it, or-he had to go before he humiliated himself farther.

Quickly standing and wiping away the stray tear Sherlock moved to leave, mumbling something along the lines of calling him later, but Lestrade stopped him and sat him down.

"You are not going anywhere until you _talk_ to me, Sherlock," Lestrade stood in front of the door, arms crossed, "I tried to let you take care of yourself in your own 'Sherlock Way', but now I'm thinking that I was mad for thinking you could deal with an emotional shock by yourself."

Sherlock glared and made no move to speak.

* * *

"Do you have any idea who _I _am?" Carter laughed in shock of the brave girl before him.

"Not a clue, but I intend to deal with you." Chloe crossed her arms and stared at him as though he were nothing, but a math problem.

"You must be new here." He smiled and held out his hand, "Name's Carter, and to give you a heads up: _no_ one wants to pick a fight with me. I always win."

"How much you want to bet on that?" Were the last words she said before screaming at the top of her lungs, falling down onto the ground, and covering her face with her arms.

Teachers came running at the yelling and the confusion caused by the scrambling crowd.

Andrew stood in his corner admiring Chloe's brilliance; everyone's brain was just going to implant a hit of some sort against the small girl.

One teacher made it to them before any of the others.

"Andrew, did you see what happened? Chloe, it's okay. Come on." The teacher helped her stand and motioned for Andrew to help Chloe get inside, "Carter, I will deal with you later."

Andrew smirked as he helped the "injured" girl.

"Thank you, sir, for helping me."

"Mr. Brook, Mr. Richard Brook. I'm actually a new teacher here in the English Department. Let me help you to my classroom."


End file.
